


Leave the Rest Unspoken (I Hear You)

by ElloPoppet



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers Compound, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky and Clint Feels, Christmas Presents, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Cold Weather, Deaf Clint Barton, E-mail, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epistolary, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fraction's Hawkeye, Letters, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Canon Compliant, Pen Pals, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sex, Slow Burn, Tenderness, The Avengers Keep Amazon in Business, house arrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloPoppet/pseuds/ElloPoppet
Summary: “I, um. I don’t think I’m supposed to have these.”Bucky held something out between them, changing the target of Clint’s focus. When Clint saw the stack of envelopes in Bucky’s hands, his heart stopped beating and he dropped his bow to the ground.Shit.“Shit,” Clint whispered, wanting to reach out and snatch the letters from Bucky’s grip, but unable to move due to the mortification flowing through him. “Did you read them?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Остальное оставим несказанным (Я слышу тебя)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220964) by [magic_irish_kid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic_irish_kid/pseuds/magic_irish_kid)



> I'm meant to be working on my original novel (I'm on my 5th round of edits, send help). 
> 
> Instead, here's another multi-chapter Winterhawk fic!
> 
> Love you guys <3

“I, um. I don’t think I’m supposed to have these.”

Clint hastily instructed Friday to pause the simulation in the range, surprised to hear that he had company. His own fault for turning his aids down too low, he supposed, but the frequency of the simulations often interfered with his reception. He’d have to get Tony to look into that. 

When he saw that it was Bucky standing behind him, Clint grew even more curious. The soldier had just joined them at the compound last week, having been cleared by the Wakandan princess as fit to reintegrate. Clint hadn’t asked questions when Steve had briefed them about Bucky’s pending arrival, but he had taken it to mean that the Hydra coding had been successfully wiped and that Barnes wouldn’t go crazy on their asses in the middle of the night.

His assessment had proven to be correct. Bucky presented as the exact opposite to what Clint knew about the Winter Soldier. He was a bit timid, a little shy, staying as close to Steve as possible as he got used to the compound and the other Avengers. Which was why Clint’s jaw was currently hanging open stupidly in surprise that Bucky would approach him in the range, alone.

“Uh, what.”

There was a flash of something in Bucky’s eyes; Clint assumed amusement, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. Bucky held something out between them, changing the target of Clint’s focus. When Clint saw the stack of envelopes in Bucky’s hands, his heart stopped beating and he dropped his bow to the ground.

_Shit._

“Shit,” Clint whispered, wanting to reach out and snatch the letters from Bucky’s grip, but unable to move due to the mortification flowing through him. “Did you read them?”

Bucky’s feet shuffled as he nodded slowly. “Most of them. I was real confused, thought maybe we had talked about some things before, at the airport, but they were addressed to me, had my name on ‘em.” Bucky swallowed and met Clint’s uncertain gaze. “I didn’t read the last one, though. Once you mentioned why you were writin’ ‘em, I knew they weren’t actually for me. I feel.” Bucky paused, licked his lips. Clint could read his body language as easy as he could do anything; Bucky was scared. 

“I’m sorry.”

*

_Dear Winter Soldier/James Barnes/Bucky,_

_Off to a great start. Don’t even know how I should be addressing you, and I’m not quite sure you would know how you want to be addressed. You’re probably all kinds of screwed up right about now. Steve said you put yourself back on ice. I figure you gotta be pretty screwed up to do that shit willingly. I guess that would make two of us._

_The reason I chose you, I guess, is because of that. You’re fucked up, I’m fucked up too. We all are, I know, but I feel like maybe our fucked up is at least a little similar, being victims of brainwashing psychopaths and all. Shit, but you’ve had it so much worse. Maybe that’s the point of this little exercise, to recognize that I was fucked for a few days, killed some people against my will, but it could have been worse._

_Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel better. Actually makes me feel pretty fucking sad._

_Fuck this.”_

_*_

_Howdy, James Barnes._

_This is bullshit. I’ve been in trouble with the law before, sure, but being on house arrest at this damn compound is bullshit. Everyone has kissed and made up, the Accords have been ratified, but we’re still stuck here like criminals._

_It’s been months since I’ve been up high. Seeing everything from the ground makes everything look all the same. Blend together. It’s so boring. I guess the highlight is that our merry band of misfits has been labeled as the “Rogues,” which sounds kind of badass._

_I miss my dog. I know Kate’s taking good care of him, has offered to bring him around once or twice. I’m thinking of maybe taking her up on it if she offers again. That mutt might make this place feel more like home. Never thought I would really miss Bed Stuy like this._

_You ever miss Brooklyn? Steve says that you’re getting some of your memories back from before Hydra and the war. You should see him talk about you. I gotta get someone to talk about me the way that Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, talks about you. Like the sun shines outta my ass. I might be able to get Nat to say that my sense of humor is terrible enough to get her to crack a smile, but that’s about it._

_I’ve reached the point where this feels kind of pointless and it’s giving me all kinds of nostalgic feelings. Nostalgia is bad for me, Barnes. I’m gonna split._

_*_

_Steve says you’re doing good, Barnes. He just got back from Wakanda looking like he just came home from Disneyland. Which, I gotta say, Wakanda sounds pretty fucking cool, even if Fury did have to babysit him the entire time because of his ‘house arrest.’_

_Shit. I wanted to go. They seemed to think that I would get myself in some kinda trouble, though. Typical._

_I’m happy for you. Sounds like the Princess has done wonders, and Steve says that they’ve been putting you to work on the land. Sounds nice. Peaceful. I think Steve plans on bringing you here once you’re all clear. How he’s going to get Tony on board with that, I’m not sure. He barely tolerates having us here. I mean, I get it, and I’m grateful to have a place to go rather than the clinker. How did everything get so fucked up? One minute I’m sleeping on my couch with Lucky, the next I’m pulled back into everyone’s mess._

_It might be a little bit your fault. I stuck with Steve because I believed him when he said that you weren’t the one setting off bombs. He said you weren’t like that anymore, that you were being framed. Hydra is a bunch of bastards, Barnes, and I know what it’s like to have people look at you like you’re about to snap and murder everyone, even though the bad guys aren’t playing around in your head anymore. It sucks._

_So anyway. It’s good that you’re doing so good. Gives me hope that maybe I’ll start to do a little better, too._

_Hawkeye out._

_*_

_You ever get nightmares, Barnes?_

_The kind of nightmares that feel so real you wake up looking for the threat? The kind that leaves you feeling so cold that it takes days or hours to warm up?_

_That’s probably insensitive of me to ask you. Winter Soldier and all. Ha. I made myself laugh._

_Just woke up seeing blue. You know who Loki is? I’m sure you’ll get the rundown on all of us before they throw you into this band of misfits, if that’s the plan. You’ll meet Loki in everyone’s files, especially Thor’s and my own. Loki is my Hydra. He’s a bastard. He made me murder a bunch of guys I’d been working with for years. Fucker still lives in my head when I sleep, and when I wake up I’m always kind of afraid the blue is gonna stick around._

_It doesn’t. I guess I should be grateful for that._

_Huh. I’m going back, rereading what I’m writing here in the hopes that my own ramblings will put me to sleep. Noticed that I wrote “He made me.” Might be the first time I put the blame on him, instead of on myself._

_I think I feel okay enough to go back to sleep. Sweet dreams, Sergeant. Hope you’re warm._

_*_

_Bucky,_

_You wanna hear some bullshit?_

_You’re an action figure now. You’ll probably learn this immediately once you come to the compound next week, because Tony created a castle of them on your dining room table. I guess that’s his version of a warm welcome. You’ll get used to him._

_That’s not the bullshit part. You deserve an action figure, like the rest of us. I think it’s almost the USA way of apologizing for your imprisonment, and all the false accusations and whatnot._

_ANYWAYS._

_The bullshit part is that your action figures have almost outsold mine. Tony was kind enough to point this out over breakfast. You’ll get used to Tony, like I said, but the guy’s still a prick. Everyone laughed, hahaha, yeah, Hawkeye is a joke._

_I laughed too even though that shit gets old. You know, I wouldn’t even care about being the least favorite/popular/famous Avenger or whatever. I like anonymity (this would surprise you to hear after you get to know me eventually. I’m loud and can be obnoxious and kind of careless, but whatever). I think it only bugs the fuck out of me because everyone else finds it cute, or hilarious. Like yep. Here’s the unenhanced team human who shoots arrows at the scary guys. He kind of helps and he got his own action figure and baby cult following. Adorable!_

_This is not the kind of shit that usually gets to me. It’s small and fucking stupid now that I’m writing about it to you. If you ever read these you would think that I’m an idiot, just like everybody else. And I don’t know why I would care, but I really think I would._

_I’m going to eat pizza, drink coffee, and nap. In that counterproductive order._

_Peace._

_*_

_You in the sky yet, Bucky?_

_Steve and Fury left yesterday to bring you here. You got the all clear, so that’s pretty cool. Steve talks about you so much that I feel like I’m invested in you being okay. I won’t mother hen you, though. In fact, I’ll probably awkwardly ignore you due to the fact that I’ve been writing you letters for months in this journal thing. You won’t really know me, I’ll feel overly familiar, yadda yadda. So I’ll try not to be weird. Should probably stop writing these letters once you get here, too._

_I gotta say, I thought my shrink was kind of batshit for suggesting that I do this once I got put on house arrest. I already told her that I’d tried journaling before, after Loki, and it didn’t work. She was right about choosing someone to ‘write to,’ though. I feel like you’re listening. Which is really fucking weird because you’re just a bunch of unsent letters that will never be read, but whatever._

_Maybe I should get my shrink a Christmas present this year. I think she likes plants. I’ll get her a cactus. Something to remind her of my prickly disposition once I’m no longer mandated to see her._

_Anyway. I’ll be seeing you real soon, Buck. I hope we make you feel alright about being here. You deserve to feel safe._

_Clint._

*

“How did you even get these?” Clint asked after swallowing down the lump in his throat. “They were in my room.” Clint stepped forward and gently took the stack of letters from Bucky. Bucky withdrew quickly as though he had been burnt when their fingers brushed.

“One of Tony’s bots brought them to me. They were there to clean my room, I thought, but they handed them over as soon as they came in. If I had known, I wouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” Clint interrupted briskly. “You didn’t know. Don’t worry about it. Just...understand if I kind of avoid the hell out of you until I let this life-ending embarrassment die down for a bit, mkay?”

Bucky opened his mouth like he wanted to say something else, or perhaps apologize again, but he closed it after a moment and nodded once, firmly. He turned to walk out of the range, and Clint leaned down to pick his bow back from off of the ground.

“Clint,” Bucky’s voice traveled across the range quietly, “you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I was readin’ your letters, and they made me feel...needed. Helpful. It was. It’s. I’m glad, and I think you’re a really fucking strong person.” With that, Bucky stepped out, letting the door close silently behind him. 

Clint’s body warmed with the sentiment, and he basked in the feeling for a few moments before going back to his targets. He shot for hours, until his muscles screamed and his body was slick with sweat, and some of his anxiety about the letters had diminished by the time he made his way back to his room. 

Well, his anxiety had diminished until he noticed an envelope propped up against his door in the hallway. It bloomed anew, mixed with a dose of giddiness when Clint gingerly picked it up to read the writing on the front. 

**“If it worked for you, maybe it’ll work for me, too.”**

Inside, Clint found a letter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is painfully self-indulgent. 
> 
> I make no apologies.

**Clint-**

**I haven’t put pen to paper like this in a long time. I used to write my Ma, back when we were traveling with the Commandos. Never was great at it, her letters were always longer than mine. Sweeter, too. I got to read a few of our correspondences in the museum not too long ago.**

**My handwriting is about the same now as it was back then. I feel like that’s wrong. It should be different.**

**It’s probably insensitive of me to bring up my Ma. Like you said in one of your letters, Fury gave me access to all of your records on the way from Wakanda. I had already read most of it back when Hydra had me going after Steve. A good assassin knows as much about their target’s team as they do the target himself.**

**But you would know that.**

**Sorry about your Ma. I know it’s been a long time for you, but I bet it still smarts. I only remember bits and pieces of my own family, and that shit hurts to think about. It was a lot longer for me than for you, in a way, so I bet your pain is fresher.**

**But one thing I’ve learned in this century is that making assumptions will get me nowhere.**

**I don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. I guess I feel like I got to you know you a little bit this morning, reading your letters. I read them a few times, figured that I couldn’t unread them, so it wouldn’t hurt to go back over what I’d already seen. You’ve got a wicked sense of humor, Hawkeye. Could hear your smart mouth even through a black and white page. Seems that you’ve got a pretty decent soul locked away in there too, judging by how you were talking about me.**

**Nobody really gets what it’s like to feel cold all the time. You wishing me warm was the nicest thing I’ve read, since my Ma’s letters at least. It's a lot warmer here at the compound, and I think I'll need time to get used to that.**

**I guess I wanted you to know that you don’t have to stop if you don’t want to. I’ll never know if you keep writing to me or not, unless you give me more letters. I liked them. My own shrink says that I should ask for things that feel good when I have the option.**

**So this is me asking.**

**Bucky**

*

Clint read Bucky’s letter a dozen times, well into the evening. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that made him go back, again and again. Maybe it was the fact that the words in this letter represented the most that he had ever heard Bucky express in one go; maybe it was the bittersweet feeling of knowing that Bucky was opening up to him. A man doesn’t just go and talk about his Mom to anyone. Clint knew that from experience. 

The next day, Clint and Bucky sat across the table from each other during lunch with the rest of the team. No words were passed between them, but Clint had been sure to smile as sincerely at Bucky as he could muster. Bucky had blushed a bit and ducked his head, but not before Clint caught a small smile of his own playing on his lips.

Two nights later, Clint couldn’t sleep. He pulled out the stationary set that he had been using over the last few months and sat down to craft his response. He had spent three days trying to work out what to say in his head, knowing that he was going to send a letter back. He hadn’t even thought not to. When it came down to it, however, his carefully chosen words fell to the wayside and the words he wrote instead simply flowed effortlessly. 

*

_Dear Bucky, who is now my official penpal,_

_Do you ever get the feeling that Steve and Tony have the hots for one another? I don’t mean to offend any of your old-timey sensibilities, and I’m not really sorry if me asking if you think your best friend is in gay love with Iron Man makes you uncomfortable. Welcome to the 21st century, Bucky. Everyone is kinda gay._

_You weren’t around when they first met each other. I wish you could have seen it. They literally went puffed-out-chest to puffed-out-chest with one another a few times within the first month. It was ridiculous and a little cute. Now, after their big falling out, it’s not so cute anymore. I wish they would just sit down, tear each other’s clothes off, and start their happy little domestic superhero life together. I think it’s meant to be for them. Do you?_

_It would be nice to see them happy. They’re both pretty messed up, but they’re good guys. They deserve it. We all probably deserve a happy ending. Even you, and probably even me, regardless of my personal opinion on the matter._

_I got to see those letters between you and your Ma in the museum, too. I don’t think your letters were all that bad. A little less poetic and gushing than hers, maybe. She seems like she was quite a woman, your Mother. A bit fiery. I see that in you sometimes, don’t think we don’t all laugh behind Steve’s back when you snark the fuck outta him. Someone’s gotta do it._

_We doing this thing, then? Letter writing? Because I kind of like the idea myself. Nobody writes letters anymore. It gives me time to organize my thoughts. I’m not great at doing that on the spot, got a lot in my head all at once and writing things down makes me seem a little less spastic. You’ve seen me around, you know what I mean._

_Well, shit. It’s like four in the morning. What am I supposed to do with this thing now? I could call the bots, I suppose, but I bet Tony tucks them into bed for the night._

_Clint_

*

**Clint-**

**You would have no way of knowing, but my sensibilities are hard to offend. Steve tells me that I used to get kicked out of places because of my filthy mouth. With the thoughts that go through my head, it’s easy to think he’s telling the truth. Besides, it would take more than talking about men being with men to make me blush. I have stories from the army that would curl your toes.**

**Your letter made me feel real relieved, I gotta say. Because I thought that I was the only one noticing Stevie and Stark eye-fucking each other across the room all the time. When I first got here I was pretty sure that the only reason I got my own place was that they were too busy screwing in their own. Now you’re telling me that they’re dancing around each other? I thought Steve was just real good at hiding it from me. I’m disappointed in him.**

**It’s queer to think that a lot of people have read those letters, and seen all the pictures from me in the army. You never think about things like that when you’re in the middle of the shitstorm, you know? Nobody but Stevie ever made a big deal out of me when I was alive, but I guess being Captain America’s best friend had its posthumous perks. If you could see me right now, you’d see me rolling my eyes. It’s not his fault, I’m just jaded.**

**Being a puppet for a bunch of asshole nazi fucks for seventy years will do that to you. I don’t recommend the experience.**

**I like this, though. The writing and the letters. It’s relaxing. It gives me a lot of chances to choose. There’s a choice involved in every word I write, and I haven’t had this much free will in a long time, pal.**

**I guess I should say thank you.**

**Bucky**

*

“Tony, do you tuck the bots in at night before you go to sleep?” Bucky asked a few days later at breakfast, nonchalant as could be. Clint snorted, nearly drowning in his cereal bowl, and he felt butterflies come alive in his belly when Bucky winked at him. 

Tony scowled.

*

_Hey Buck!_

_I don’t think Tony knew you had a sense of humor before yesterday. I approve of your method of surprise. Someone has to keep him on his toes._

_I like how comfortable you seem to be getting in your last letter. Tell me, Sergeant, does Steve try to make you stand in the corner or go to bed without supper when you use that filthy mouth in front of him? Because he’s been known as the Team Dad for years now and I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t tried to make us all chew on a bar of soap._

_Are you getting comfortable everywhere else? I don’t see you around much, mainly just at meals. No pressure, I get it. We can be a lot. Hell, the world probably feels like a lot. I know it did for me when I came too, and I’d only been out for a few days. I would offer to show you around, maybe go to your old stomping grounds in Brooklyn, but you know. Ankle bracelet and all._

_Feel free to come by sometime if you want. I know you know where I live, and if I’m not there I’m in the range. Or I’m bothering Nat, but she’s usually with Sam lately. I’ve been thinking about going up on the roof of this place, because I don’t think that would set off the alarms. I could be wrong, but I’m good at feigning innocence and ignorance. I’m not as dumb as everyone thinks._

_Let’s keep that between us, though._

_See you around._

_Clint._

*

When Bucky found him the next night, Clint had finally made his way onto the compound’s roof. 

Clint really did miss his shitty apartment building in Bed Stuy, but one thing that he could appreciate about the compound was that it was in the middle of nowhere upstate, which meant that the view of the sky was spectacular. Without all of the light pollution of the city, Clint could see miles and miles of stars, could try to find the constellations that the Bearded Lady had shown him once or twice when he was a kid.

“Still in range, I see,” Bucky said, nodding toward Clint’s ankle bracelet as he sat down a few feet away from Clint. Clint jingled his ankle, the green light blinking steadily as he did so. 

“Am as long as I stay in this area. A foot to the left and I’m in the red.”

Bucky huffed out a small laugh and looked upward, towards the sky. Clint used the opportunity to look, to outline the shape of Bucky’s silhouette and the way that loose strands of hair danced in the wind. Seeing Bucky up close helped Clint to solidify him as the man he’d been sharing letters with over the last few weeks, and after a moment Clint felt unbearably close, though the physical distance between them hadn’t been breached. 

“Even with all the snow, it’s nice up here. S’good.” Bucky said, still glancing at the stars. 

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, still gazing at Bucky. “It is.”

*

**Clint-**

**You’re asleep on the community couch right now. I think you’re drooling, and I’m pretty sure Scott hid your aids somewhere in the kitchen after you put them on the table. I’m just kind of off to the side, observing and trying not to feel weird about watching you sleep.**

**Do you think it’s weird?**

**I think you’re starting to be a calm place for me. Your letters make the world fall away for a few minutes at a time, or a few hours, depending on how many times I read them. Sitting up on the roof with you last night was so damn peaceful that I wondered if it was real when I woke up this morning. You don’t put no expectations on me. You didn’t know me before, or during. Just after, just now, and so you let me be this. Whatever mixture of James Barnes, and Bucky, and the Soldier that I am. I like that you let me be.**

**I’m not quite sure how to thank you. My Ma used to do things like put extra maple syrup on my pancakes when I would do extra housework, or help my little sister with her schoolwork so that my Ma could relax for a bit. I could cook for you, I think. I remember how to do some things.**

**I’m not good for nothing, after all, I suppose.**

**Bucky**

*

On Christmas morning, about a week after Bucky’s last letter, Clint watched as his teammates tore open gifts in the community living space. They had kept Amazon busy that year, with half of them unable to leave the compound, and within minutes there were piles upon piles of wrapping papers and brown, smiling cardboard boxes stacked on top of one another. Clint drank his coffee and let his own pile of gifts remain wrapped at his feet, choosing to watch everyone else enjoy first. 

He caught Bucky’s eye in the midst of the joyous chaos and felt a spike of worry at the wetness that welled there. Clint’s alarm faded into something blurry and aching when he noticed that Bucky was clutching his gift from Clint to his chest. 

‘Do you like it?’ Clint signed across the room to Bucky, grateful not for the first time that sign language was in Bucky’s impressive repertoire of languages. Bucky gently placed the maple-scented candle on the ground, and signed back with reverence. 

‘I love it.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make yourself a pre-emptive dentist appointment, because I have fucking outdone myself with the cotton-candy-fluff this time around.

_Bucky,_

_I never said thank you for tipping me off about Scott hiding my aids. It’s this whole thing, when we first met he made some bet about how he could steal more shit than I could without me noticing. He’s probably winning, I barely have enough of his shit to craft a small, tiny handheld nest. Might as well play into the joke, right? Besides, I always find my shit and he hasn’t noticed his missing, so maybe I’m winning after all._

_I’m glad you liked your gift. I can smell you burning it sometimes when I walk past your room. I’ve thought about stopping by once or twice, but never do. Don’t know why. I mean, I probably do know why, but it makes me sound like a child to say it’s because I feel safer talking to you behind a piece of paper than I do in person._

_And don’t take that the wrong way, you self-deprecating piece of shit. I know I’m safe with you. It’s just easier. Fuck. You know what I mean._

_Why am I so freaked out about coming across as weird to you when you’re the one who apparently gets off on watching me sleep? Ha. Not weird, by the way. In all honesty, who wouldn’t sleep a little better knowing that James Barnes had their six?_

_Did you see what Steve and Tony got each other, by the way? It was the same sweater, Bucky. The same. Fucking. Sweater. I almost burst into flames watching them get all red and try to laugh it off like it wasn’t the most awkward gift exchange in goddamn history. I’ll relive that moment over and over until I die._

_I hope the rest of your Christmas was good. I know I flaked, but I was feeling nostalgic and like I was missing something. If you remember, Hawkeye and nostalgia don’t mix, so I took a much-needed nap instead and FaceTimed with Lucky, that beautiful creature._

_Hope you’re doing well, Buck. Maybe I’ll teach you how to e-mail eventually so we can converse in almost real time like almost real people._

_Night,  
Clint_

*

**Clint-**

**Christmas was strange. I felt out of place, and everything was so loud, and bright, and overindulgent. When I was a kid, I would get some shoes, sweets and maybe a few trinkets in a stocking, and we would pile together in the kitchen to make cocoa and pretend like we were helping Ma with dinner. Hell, when it was just Steve and me before the war we would exchange homemade things (code for he would draw me amazing pictures and I would try to hem some dimestore clothes to be small enough for the runt).**

**You guys went above and beyond. Tech, books, game systems, fancy clothes, expensive booze, jewelry. And then you gave me a candle. A fuckin candle.**

**I’ll kill anyone who tries to take it away from me. It’s my new favorite thing.**

**Shuri was explaining to me how scent is tied pretty strong to memory. I got a whole lot of memories that smell like sweat and blood, or gunpowder. But now when I feel like those memories are gonna take over, I have this candle to light and it helps it all disappear.**

**What do you think you smell like? You think this Yankee Candle place has a Hawkeye candle that I can light whenever I feel like sinking into the soft scents of pizza, coffee, and dry humor? Truth be told, Clint, bullshit aside, I would probably spend a lot of time with that candle lit. And I don’t think you’re weird for feeling safer behind paper and pen, because do you think I would ever say half of this shit to your face?**

**A few more things before I go on a run with Sam, who will be knocking on my door at any moment because he’s the only responsible adult here who wakes up at 0500 instead of just going to bed after the sun rises.**

**One, come by my room any time. If I’m not there I’m with Steve, or in the gym. I’m surprised I don’t run into you there more often. Two, you really think I managed to be a successful assassin throughout the nineties and that Y2K nonsense without figuring out e-mail? Fuck outta here with that. And three, you’ve mentioned this ‘Lucky’ person twice now. Someone awfully important to you, must be. I know who Kate is, and I know you miss your dog, but is there some other lurid penpal I should know about/be jealous of? Do you write them prettier letters than you do me?**

**Sweet dreams, Clint, since I figure you’re just about getting ready to hunker down for the morning now.**

**Bucky**

**P.S. On a scale of Steve Rogers to the Winter Soldier, how terrible of a person am I for helping Steve and Tony pick out each other’s Christmas presents?**

*

_Bucky,_

_You, my friend, are a fucking mastermind. It’s gonna be hard breaking it to Nat, but I’m going to have to tell her that you’re my favorite now because you are the one who provided me with that beautiful, gloriously mortifying Christmas memory. The Identical Sweater Incident, crafted by James Buchanan Barnes. You should write a fucking book._

_I’ve included in this letter a picture of the illustrious Lucky. The twist that you didn’t see coming is that Lucky and the dog that I yearn to pet are one and the same. Although maybe you should still be jealous anyway, because I do write him prettier letters than I write to you. Lucky has taste and expects flowery, literary prose, unlike you who is apparently happy with half-formed thoughts, ramblings and being low key made fun of via snail mail._

_I like hearing you talk (reading you write?) about your memories. Obviously, I haven’t been around as long as you have, and it’s neat to hear about how much we’ve bastardized the world with consumerism and commercialism. Deck the halls!_

_I’m glad you liked the candle. Consider it my own thank you, for keeping me sane in this place. And not only that, but for actually making me feel pretty sane for the first time in a while. Writing to you is easy, even easier now somehow even though I know you’ll be reading what I’m putting down._

_I should ask Tony if PR thinks there’s a market for Avengers scented candles. Your prediction about mine isn’t too far off, but I think my candle would smell more like pizza, coffee, masturbation and an air of confused sense of self. Don’t ask me how they would capture that all into one jar, though. My essence is far too spectacular to capture._

_What would you smell like? And none of that angsty “blood and gunpowder” bullshit. I’m not interested in the Winter Soldier. I think you smell a little like motor oil, I’m betting that’s probably your arm. Motor oil, coconut (never change your conditioner brand, ever), and an old whiskey bar (that’s a compliment, I swear)(also, remind me to play the Doors for you sometime)._

_Don’t feel like you’re putting me off with the things you say in your letters Buck, because I’m pretty sure I’d have a lifetime supply of your candles hoarded in one of my closets. That’s a thing that we should probably talk about someday, but maybe not today._

_I see you and Sam running sometimes, out the window before I crawl into my bed. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous. The indoor track and gym are fine, and I can go a few feet into the yard, but my lungs are starting to shrivel up without that delicious high altitude air that I get from being approximately 10-15 stories up._

_If you’re awake during the night and running with Sam while I sleep, when do you rest, Buck?_

_With sincerity from your fucking strange what-would-we-smell-like-as-candles penpal,_

_Clint_

*

A couple of days passed before Clint found his next letter, waiting for him by his door as per usual. The timing of the letter was different than what he had grown used to; Bucky usually left his letters at his door when Clint was asleep, and he would get them when he woke up in the late morning or early afternoon. This time, Clint was returning from the gym and it was a little after 1 a.m. The letter hadn’t been there when he’d left just an hour or so before, itching for a few laps around the track. 

Something tickled in the back of Clint’s mind, and he opened the letter out in the hallway, not wanting to waste time by going inside of his apartment. Something felt urgent, out of place, uncomfortable. 

*

**Dear Clint-**

**You mentioned feeling cold once. Before the letters were meant for me.**

**You mentioned it being hard to warm up sometimes. I remember you made yourself laugh because you thought it was fucked up or uncouth or some shit to write to me about the cold. I laughed too, the first few times I read through that letter. I think I might have cried when I was done laughing, because you want to know something?**

**I’m broken, sweetheart. And some days it feels like I can put myself back together again, and sometimes I read your letters and they make me feel like I’m stitching together piece by piece, but then there are these nights. Nights like this one, when I wonder what you’re doin writing to me, putting down pieces of yourself and the thoughts in your head and wrapping them carefully in an envelope to leave at my door.**

**I don’t deserve it. You know why?**

**Clint, there’s a part of me that misses the damn cold. The beds here, the couches? They’re so soft that it makes me scared that there’s nothing there to catch me on my way down. I try to sleep on the floor, but you know what’s near the floor? The heating vents. It’s January in upstate New York and Tony has a lot of money so I feel like no matter how low I have Friday put my heat, it’s always toasty and warm.**

**My body can’t handle it a lot. I slept in the cold, always in the cold. The cold is where I found my rest, where they kept their hands off me for a few days, or months, or years sometimes. You asked me when I get rest, and I don’t think I do, not really.**

**I got the serum running through my veins, always will. I run hot as it is, and I don’t need as much sleep as you, but I think it’s starting to catch up with me. The warmth, the heat, and being tired to my bones.**

**I don’t know why you consider me a friend, a broken weapon, tired to his bones.**

**Yours, for any reason you can cling to,**

**Bucky**

*

It only took Clint about three minutes to whirl around his own apartment, gathering armfuls of blankets and a few baggy hoodies, before he marched directly to Bucky’s place down the hall. Regardless of how many times he had hesitated to knock over the last few weeks, there wasn’t so much as a pause before he started rapping his knuckles against the metal, quick and hard.

When Bucky answered Clint dropped his arm and simply stared for a moment at the man before him, taking in the details that he should have noticed ages ago. The dullness of Bucky’s typically vibrant eyes, the sunken pallor of the skin stretched across those beautiful cheekbones. Bucky looked dead on his feet, save for the startled expression on his face. 

“What’s all-”

“Put your shoes on and follow me.” Clint didn’t pose it as a question. In fact, he had come equipped with his Big Boy voice that he usually only utilized when taking baby agents out into the field for the first time. Regardless, it worked, and within the minute Bucky was matching Clint’s stride down the quiet hall until they reached the door to the outside yard of the compound. 

Clint didn’t pause, ignoring the light flurry of snow falling, listening for the crunch of Bucky’s boots in the few inches of snow on the ground as he followed loyally in step. Eventually, Clint heard his monitor beep from its home on his ankle, and he took a few steps back before dropping everything in his arms. Bucky simply stood back and watched as Clint layered on three hoodies, wrapped himself in a blanket and a comforter, and sat his ass in the middle of the snowy ground.

“What. The Hell. Is happening.” Bucky’s voice and face were stoic, nothing betraying or even hinting at an inflection. Clint used his eyes to motion toward the ground beside him, where a few more blankets lay. 

“I wasn’t sure how much protection you actually needed from the cold. I’m working on a learning curve here of knowing just this side of nothing about your super special abilities. I figured this should be enough though, if you lay one down and use a few to cover yourself.”

Clint thought that his plan was foolproof, that Bucky would be able to see where this was going. He found himself grateful that it took some figuring out on Bucky’s part because his befuddled look was fucking adorable. 

“You want me to sleep out here? On the ground. In the snow?”

“I want you to sleep in the cold. Yeah.”

Clint’s response hung heavy between them and he could see the shift in Bucky’s demeanor, could see the moment when Bucky melted at the words. Bucky did what was suggested of him and laid a blanket out on the ground and tentatively stretched out upon it. He shook out the other two blankets and used them as top covers, getting settled. 

Minutes passed. How many, Clint couldn’t be sure. He stayed folded in on himself, keeping warm in his giant cocoon of fabric, trying to figure out how to keep his face warm for the next few hours while Bucky hopefully slept. As it turned out, Bucky solved that problem for him. 

“Don’t be weird about it, but come here,” Bucky said, his voice soft yet bellowing in the silence of the night. “I put out heat like a furnace and the last thing I need is for my best fella to freeze to death cuz he wants me to get a little shut-eye.” 

Clint thought about arguing, thought about the way that Bucky’s super soldier hearing might pick up on the sound of his heart thundering in his chest, but decided against it. Bucky had told him not to be weird about it, so he wouldn’t be weird about it. Instead, he rolled himself and his blanket cocoon across the blanket on the ground until his face was pressed against Bucky’s chest, Bucky’s flesh arm around his back. Bucky huffed out a few soft peals of laughter as they arranged themselves under the blankets until they were hunkered down comfortably. 

“Gonna have to let me cook for you now, after this,” Bucky whispered, and Clint hummed. 

“I like sandwiches, and pizza, and french toast,” Clint murmured after a moment. Bucky rubbed his back through the thick layers in response. 

“Steve says I make a mean BLT,” Bucky responded, voice heavy with sleep. Clint yawned and snuggled down deeper in the blankets. 

“That’ll do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually post one or two chapters a week when I'm writing multi-chapter fics. This is my fourth this week. I'm having an amazing time with this one, and I hope you're all enjoying the feels right along with me. 
> 
> I'm estimating that there will be anywhere from 2-4 more chapters after this. I'm switching some things up after this one, and there might be a ratings bump to M or maybe even E? Who knows. I'm flying blind here. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Bucky,_

_You know, it just occurred to me this very minute that I kind of just assumed that you would be okay with being called Bucky. It’s what Steve always called you over the years, but you mentioned before that you like how I don’t treat you like Bucky, at least Bucky from back then._

_What do you want to be called?_

_Anyway. I’ve been thinking. Mainly about those incredible BLTs from yesterday, but also about a few other things. Like what I’m gonna do when I get this damn monitor off of me in March. I hadn’t really thought twice about walking my ass out of this box and back to my dog and Hawkeye and all of my tenants back in Bed Stuy. Did you know that I technically own the building? Clint Barton, Landlord Extraordinaire. That’s me._

_The more I think about it though, the more I see myself running into a few barriers. First of all, what if my favorite pizza places have closed down over the last 8 months? I’ll have to come back here whenever Sam makes pizza for the rest of you. Second, I’m going to have to buy stamps. Do they even still sell stamps anywhere? Because I’m assuming that you’ll be staying here, with Steve, Nat and Sam. Tony’ll be around a bit, I’m sure, because hello, Steve is staying. Scott will no doubt go home for his kid, and fuck if I can predict where Vis and Wanda are gonna settle down to try and make their cyborg babies._

_It’s gonna be odd, not just walking a few steps and dropping off my thoughts at your door, or being able to see that you’ve got my letter. It’ll be boring to come home knowing that there won’t be an envelope with your chicken scratch waiting for me. Sure, if we keep this up, it’ll be in my mailbox, but it’s not the same._

_Who would have known that it would take a geriatric God of Smoldering and Smirks to make me feel sentimental? I’m pretty sure my therapist is jealous._

_We got time, I suppose. I’m not going anywhere for a few months._

_Was just thinking about it is all._

_Here’s to hoping you’re warm or cold, whichever you wanna be when you read this._

_Clint_

*

**Hey, Asshole-**

**Way to get a guy down. I’m not surprised that you’ve been thinking about what happens when you’re free, since you’re the one wearing the bracelet and all, but now you got me thinking about it too. You won’t be forced down our throats anymore; what am I gonna do when I can’t make fun of Steve and Tony with sign language, huh? And I’m actually going to have to get out of bed in the middle of the night when I hear someone banging and crashing around instead of just assuming it’s you being a disaster.**

**You’re a pain in the ass, Clint.**

**But I guess that means that I won’t be shoved down your throat anymore, either. At least if I say something that makes you feel bad, you’ll be too far away to just drag me outside to sleep in the snow, or send a bot down to play hide and seek with my shit (I told Scott you were using the bots to help you steal, by the way. I’m Switzerland here, he gets intel, same as you) (He said he wasn’t impressed but I think he was).**

**There’s a part of me that’s saying that we’re friends because we want to be, and another part that’s saying that you’re friends with me because your options are awfully slim here and I’m the prettiest to look at out of the rest of them. And don’t try to be coy. I feel you looking.**

**I guess you have a choice. Sounds like you have quite a bit waiting for you back in Brooklyn. Here? I don’t really know what you have, and I’m not brazen enough to think that my stellar company would be a reason to stick around.**

**You know that I’m allowed to leave the compound, right? Didn’t you say that you were gonna take me back to all of my old haunts? What happened to that plan? I can’t lie and say that I haven’t thought about it, really think about it a lot when I can’t sleep. Showing you Brooklyn how I remember it, in fragments, but still home. Seeing if there’s anything still standing from before the war. Seeing the state of a city that allows Hawkeye to be in charge of one of her buildings.**

**What do you think about, Clint? When you think of taking me to Brooklyn. Or anywhere else.**

**And since you were keen enough to ask, let’s try something new.**

**Warm and comfy tonight,**

**James**

**(By the way, I know that Sam is the prettiest one, not me. I’m not actually insane.)**

*

_Hi, James._

_James._

_Hello, James._

_You know, part of me hopes you like the sound of that, because you feel like a James to me. Maybe it’s because I know it might be a choice on your part. Who knows. All I know is that I really don’t appreciate you addressing your last letter to Asshole. I’m wounded. Hurt. Saddened._

_Flattered? Yeah. I’m flattered._

_That’s right, you CAN leave the compound! I didn’t even think of that! Dumbass. Of course you can leave the compound. You’re the innocent amongst this messy clusterfuck._

_I call you an asshole and a dumbass in the nicest way possible, by the way. It’s how I show affection. Ask that dick, Natasha._

_What do I think about when I think about going somewhere with you outside of these walls? Bold of you to assume it has crossed my mind, James. JAMES._

_Bold of you to assume that when I feel lonely in my room, I’m wondering who of my tenants you would love the most if you came to one of our rooftop barbecues. Or when I see you and Sam running, I’m thinking about whether you and Lucky would enjoy playing extreme frisbee in the park down the street from my apartment. Awfully brazen of you to think that I’m always creating mental lists of movies I wanna show you, concerts you might like, pizza places that I want to drag you too because I feel like you might actually humor me in rank ordering them based on deliciousness and amount of cheese._

_Usually though, I think about being with you on missions. We’ll be cleared for the field around the same time, I think, and if you choose to go out with us it’ll be nice to have another sniper in the air with me. I think about what you might look like with your back to me on rooftops, I wonder if you would be as competitive during combat as I imagine._

_I think of other things. Pipe dreams, mostly. Usually because when I think about you and me in the world together, all fucked up and a little lost and clunky at life, I think about how that would mean you would want to be in the world with me and how I must be doing something right to deserve that._

_And what’s with the fishing for compliments, man? Sam’s got that flawless skin and that shiny smile, but I can’t stand for you pretending that you don’t know how attractive you are. I know you’ve got fucking mirrors. I might not be as bold as you, but I’m bold enough to tell you that yeah, I spend all the time looking that I can, because some part of me thinks you want me to._

_You ever think about doing anything other than exploring Brooklyn, with me?_

_Thinking about your pretty face, James._

_Clint_

*

Clint and Bucky saw each other in the dining room the next morning, and Clint found it difficult to meet Bucky’s eyes without stammering. He had debated on burning his letter on the stove rather than giving it over to Bucky the day before but figured that if Bucky could let himself be vulnerable enough for Clint that it would only be fair to level the playing field. So Clint took a deep breath, sat down at the table across from Bucky and Steve, and ate his damn waffles. 

They bantered for a bit, Steve and Bucky arguing about some sports team that Clint was clueless about while Clint threw in random shit talk just because. More than once, Bucky caught Clint staring, usually after Bucky had the audacity to do something breathtaking like laugh, or curse at Captain America. Rather than look away, Clint held the contact until Bucky’s cheeks pinkened. He had read the letter. Clint could tell. 

After clearing his plate and draining his cup of coffee Clint stood from the table, rinsed his dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher. As he stepped behind the table, passing Bucky and Steve, he clapped them both on the back, curling his hand around Bucky’s shoulder with a soft squeeze. Steve didn’t get the same treatment. 

“Gentlemen, enjoy your days. Steve, give Nat hell during training, and James, I’ll be seeing ya.”

Clint _ached_ to see the look on Bucky’s face as he uttered his name, but focused instead on dropping his hands from their shoulders and walking out the door. 

*

**Hey there, Sweetheart-**

**Did your heart skip a beat just then? Did your face get all warm and rouge the way I know mine did this morning?**

**James, I’ll be seeing you, you said. Like my body wouldn’t have a reaction. You said it like I wouldn’t take it as a promise. I’ll be seeing you.**

**You always see me.**

**You tell me all these things you want to do with me when you get out of here, as though making me think about going out for pizza, walking the damn dog, or watching movies with you isn’t bold. You know what? It’s not bold to make me imagine having a few beers with you on your roof with your friends and your building tenants. You know what it is?**

**It’s fucking _domestic_ , Clint. **

**I’m trying to pull myself together right now. You see how much I’m shaking? You have to be able to see it, you’ve got a sharp eye. Because you want to know the one thing that I never thought I’d get? That’s right. Domesticity. Friends. Grilling on a rooftop. Talking about the weather, or baseball, or the damn kids down the block causing a ruckus into the night. Having a face that I’ve studied until it’s as familiar as my own to find in the crowd, to share inside jokes with and wink back and forth. I’m not supposed to have that, but dammit if you aren’t making me burn for it. What are you doing to me?**

**This is more than feeling a little better. This thing, cutting through my chest and bubbling in my throat? It tastes like hope and that tastes real good and fucking dangerous.**

**What do I do to you? Is it anything like what you do to me?**

**Buzzin in my fucking skin,**

**James**

*

_James,_

_If I tell you what you do to me, I’ll ruin this. I know I will. These letters don’t feel the same as they did as when we started. I’m not upset about that, but I am really fucking scared. I can’t see you when you’re writing shit down, can’t hear your voice to give anything away._

_I’m not as dumb as everyone thinks, but you make me feel like I am sometimes, with the things you say. Because I think I get you, I think I understand, but man if I don’t? I will fuck this up, sure as the sun will rise in the morning._

_If you want to know what you do to me, if you want to know what I think about when I think about you, ask me again. Ask me to tell you, think about it long and hard, decide if you really wanna know, and ask me._

_Clint_

*

Twenty minutes after Clint dropped the letter off at Bucky’s apartment and booked it back to his own place, his laptop chimed from its spot on the coffee table. Clint paused whatever he was trying to watch as a distraction and clicked around until he opened the flashing tab of his browser, indicating that he had an e-mail. 

*

To: CFBarton@shield.us.org  
From: JBBarnes@shield.us.org 

****

****

**Tell me.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want the e-mail headings taking up a bunch of space, so I stuck to format changes.   
>  
> 
> _Clint_  
>  **Bucky**  
>   
> 
> Also, heed the rating change :)

To: JBBarnes@shield.us.org  
From: CFBarton@shield.us.org 

_So it’s true. The old man knows how to use the internet. Should I be scared? I feel like I should be scared. Why the change in format?_

To: CFBarton@shield.us.org  
From: JBBarnes@shield.us.org 

**Call it impatience. Are you scared?**

_Hmm. Am I scared? Let me think about that for a minute._

_Of course I’m fuckin scared, man. I expected to have a little more time to gather my thoughts, you know?_

**Take all the time you need, but just know that I would rather you say whatever you want. I have a hunch that no matter what you say, you won’t ruin this. Aside from Steve, you’re my best friend this century so. Not letting that go anytime soon, pal.**

_This is ridiculous. We could be texting. Or sitting in the same room together since we’re only a hallway apart. My shrink is gonna think it’s a hoot that I had a discussion about feelings via e-mail. Technically, my work e-mail, no less._

**No, Clint, I feel like your therapist is gonna rag on you for your impressive and frustrating level of avoidance.**

**I’m not ready to talk about this in person, yet. You’re not the only one who’s scared.**

_Fuck. You’re a former Howling Commando, James. Ex-Fist of Hydra. Battled Captain America in the air, mano a mano. I don’t know how I should react to knowing that you’re afraid to talk to me. Have you met me? I gave myself a fourth-degree burn with an ice cube, babe. That’s what you’re dealing with._

*

Clint sat on his couch, laptop on his knees, heart in his throat and threatening to burst. The term of endearment had slipped; he wasn’t being as careful typing to Bucky as he usually was when he was writing out letters. Hands shaking, Clint made the impulsive decision to remove his hearing aids. Silence, blissful and thick, blanketed him, making it easier to hear his own thoughts over the rush of his pulse. Clint waited for a response, unsure if he would get one. 

Thirty minutes dragged by at a glacial pace, Clint’s anxiety ticking up with each and every moment. When his e-mail tab started to flash, he physically startled and clicked Bucky’s message open instantly, sucking in a breath at the sheer length of his response. 

*

**Clint.  
My ridiculous, infuriating, hilarious, enigmatic, selfless Hawkeye-**

**This will not be the first (or even the second) time in my long life that I’ve plunged into unknown waters, praying like hell that there’s something to soften the blow when I land.**

**When I look at you, I see a man keeping himself at a distance. I know, I know; you see better that way. And it’s not surprising, not really, when I think about where you’re from, the pits of dirt and scum that you’ve dug yourself out of your whole damn life. Grief, abuse, manipulation, being thrown headfirst out of childhood and into the seedy underbelly of the world, loss of self. You’re a man who should be a shell, broken and shattered, yet here you are. A superhero. Telling jokes, serving others, loving dogs and fixing the faith of run down people in run down buildings.**

**Yes, Clint. I’m fucking scared of you. Because you show me that there’s no excuse, no reason for me to fold like a shitty poker hand. You show me a future, an example of what I might be able to be someday, no matter how scrambled my brains have been, no matter what parts of me are missing. You’re missing parts, too, just a little differently than me.**

**But you’re obviously scared too, so here’s me being selfless and taking the plunge first, because one of us has to stop being a fucking idiot. Nobody’s dying, or bleeding, shot or cut open, even if it feels like that sometimes.**

**That’s what you do to me, sweetheart. You cut me open.**

**You chose to write to me when you wanted to heal yourself. You barely knew me, we’d barely spoken to each other. But you chose me.**

**Choice is important to me, as we’ve established, for obvious nazi-brainwashing related reasons. So knowing that I was a choice for you? That shit cuts and it cuts deep. And knowing that you decided to keep choosing me, over and over again, it flays me open and stitches me back together again. Every time.**

**And it just feels so fucking good, honey.**

**You look at me like you want me to take you apart. I can see it, you know. Your pretty iris’ bein swallowed up by the black in your eyes, your pulse jumping in your throat, the blood crawling up the skin of your neck and jaw. You wrote that you thought I wanted you to look and Christ, of course I do. Can’t stop thinking about you looking at me, all the time, can’t stop looking at you.**

**I don’t wanna stop looking at you. I want to see more of you, doll, all of you. Want to take you apart with my hands, and my mouth, my fingers, and my tongue. Need to hear my name on your lips when I do it, too. James. Fuck it if you didn’t almost light me on fire with that one, Clint. It was a near thing.**

**Even now, without you even being here, I’m wound tight just knowing you’re going to read this. Hoping that it’s clear enough, good enough. Just hoping that it’s enough to get you to jump off the ledge with me.**

**I want you. I choose you. I crave you, any way you’ll have me.**

**James**

*

Clint exhaled shakily, letting loose the gulp of air trapped in his lungs before gasping for another. His body thrummed with heat, every inch of him warmed and so sensitive that the air itself felt like a caress. He throbbed heavily between his legs, at the same time as he tried to breathe through the bright bloom of affectionlove _need_ in his chest. 

His fingers were jittery when he splayed his hands over the keyboard.

*

_Jesus Fucking Hell, James._

_If you expect me to be coherent after that absolute onslaught, you’ve got another thing coming. I don’t know what I should address first; the feeling that my fucking heart is going to explode, the absolutely outlandish level of turned on I am by everything you just said to me, or the fact that I think you fucking lied about being bad at writing letters because bro? Right now you’re channeling fucking Shakespeare or some shit._

_Nobody has ever said anything to me in my whole fucked up life that makes me feel as fucking needed as I do right now after reading your words._

_I want to take the time to organize my thoughts, to find words that make you feel even a fraction of what you make me feel. On the other hand, I don’t want to take my time because you want me to say what I want, so I will._

_No use in making you jump off the ledge by yourself when there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than next to you when you do it._

_You never asked to read the last letter in the original set. I know you must have wanted to, because when you scrape the bottom of the barrel you’re just as human as I am and that shit would have driven me crazy. In the beginning, I was so damn glad you stopped where you did and that you didn’t read that last letter because I would have never been able to look you in the eyes again. As we kept on though, I’ve been more and more tempted to hand it over to you, because I just wanted you to fucking know, James._

_I didn’t think you’d read them, and so I was brutally honest when I wrote them. I wrote that last one the night after you came to the compound. That entire ridiculous letter was nothing but me, waxing poetic about how goddamn beautiful you are. About how I had forgotten how bad I wanted to close my fists around your gorgeous hair when I first saw you at the airport. About how your body made my mouth go dry and how obsessed I was with how pink your lips were. How it’d been ages since I just purely wanted the way that I wanted you, bam. Just like that._

_You gotta know at this point though, babe, that it’s not just about how damn sinfully pretty you are. I wouldn’t spill my guts to just any random looker. I certainly wouldn’t sleep in the damn snow in hopes for a quick fuck to get my rocks off. You gotta know that, when I think about you and the things I wanna do to you, it’s always slow, and disgustingly sweet, and I always wind up with a hard dick and an aching heart._

_Do you think that’s love, James?_

_Because when I think about fucking you, I don’t think about fucking you. I think about worshipping you, touching every piece of you from your hair to your toes to your fingertips, all ten of them, flesh or metal. I think about licking your scars to see if I can taste the parts of your past that make you, you. I think about holding your hands when I sink into you and swallowing your breaths into my lungs._

_I’m dizzy with how fucking much I want you, baby. Drunk, and dizzy, and goddamn petrified._

_You wanna know what I think about the most? That godforsaken ‘domesticity’ that you called me out on. When I think about taking you home to Bed Stuy, I think about taking you home. To Bed Stuy. With me._

_And if that thought doesn’t terrify you, because it’s way too soon and way too fast and really, we’re a disaster waiting to happen built on a foundation of fucking handwritten letters? If that thought doesn’t terrify you, then maybe it’s time to have this conversation in person._

_I’ll be waiting for you, in any conceivable way._

_Clint_

*

Ten minutes later, the lights in Clint’s apartment flashed. Friday, signaling that someone was at the door. Clint could hear the incessant knocking as soon as he inserted his hearing aids. Knowing that it was Bucky on the other side, nothing had ever sounded sweeter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever. My bad. 
> 
> Enjoy! A chapter and short epilogue to follow this one (both before the end of the year, promise!)

In the moment before Clint opened the door, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Would he get a sassy, confident, handsy Bucky, or maybe a shy, scared, withdrawn nervous wreck? He would kill for the first, prepared himself for the latter, and received neither. 

When Clint swung the door open to see Bucky, he looked _pissed_. 

“All this time? You’ve been thinking about me like...like _that_ , all this time? Why,” Bucky paused to take a breath, shuffling his weight from one leg to the other, “why didn’t you tell me?”

Clint didn’t mean to laugh, but it was startled out of him. 

“Uh, because you’ve had way, way more important shit to deal with and acclimate to other than someone on your team throwing moon-eyes your way. Besides, how was I supposed to know that you’d be, I dunno, receptive? Yeah, that’s the word I’m looking for.” 

Rather than waiting for an invitation inside, Bucky pushed past Clint in the doorway. Not that Clint minded. In fact, he rather enjoyed the view of Bucky standing in the middle of his place, clad in soft sweatpants and a baggy, warm looking sweatshirt, “Stark Industries” blazoned across the chest. Clint closed the door behind them, sectioning them off within his apartment. 

“Why wouldn’t I be receptive? Clint, do you have any idea what it meant for me to talk to you? Write to you, whatever. You’re the first person I’ve been able to spill myself to in a long time, a real long time. It wasn’t. I wouldn’t have just asked anyone to keep goin’ like I asked you.” Bucky paused, running a hand through his loose hair. “I didn’t even know if you liked men, or if you just flirt with everyone. I just didn’t know.”

Clint could see that Bucky was in a strange place, torn between wonderment, hurt, joy and anger. Clint was in a similar boat, minus all of the negatives. Disbelief, joy, and arousal hummed throughout his body.

“It’s alright, James. I had no idea when I wrote your name down on that first letter that it would get us to here, to whatever this is. But we’re here now, right?”

Bucky’s posture fell from rigid into something more fluid, more human. Clint could see some of the anxiety disappear from his eyes, and Bucky’s lips turned up into a small, shy smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Too fast or not, we’re here, plain as day.”

Clint’s heart clenched at Bucky’s words, and he took a step forward, putting them within arm’s distance of one another. 

“What do you want, James?” Clint asked, trying like hell to be as non-threatening as possible. He watched Bucky’s Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. 

“I still have a hard time with that question,” Bucky murmured, before looking up and meeting Clint’s gaze, “but maybe that’s because you’re all I want, Clint. I just want you.”

It was a flurry, then, the slow and molten tension between them shifting into a magnetized maelstrom of cold and warm swirling together. All at once, Clint’s chest was pressed against Bucky’s, his hands cupping Bucky’s prickly face. Clint distantly registered Bucky’s arms around him, holding him firmly behind his back. Clint leaned in to cover Bucky’s mouth with his own and _missed_ , getting a mouthful of Bucky’s hair and just the barest hint of the corner of Bucky’s lip. 

“Aw, pretty hair, no,” Clint groaned, feeling his face start to heat up. Bucky laughed, bright and full, and shook the hair out of his face. 

“C’mere, doll,” Bucky invited joyously, and he met Clint halfway. Clint shivered at the contact of Bucky’s lips on his, full and soft, dry and _insistent_. They opened to each other in synchrony, the warmth and wetness of Bucky’s tongue creating a hitch in Clint’s breath. A low moan vibrated through Bucky, easy to feel from where Clint’s hands now rested on either side of his throat, and with it Clint was lost, willingly letting go of any mental anchors remaining and letting himself sink into Bucky as far as he could without drowning. 

Bucky pulled away first, chest heaving, and Clint had to swallow a groan at the thought that _he_ was the reason for Bucky’s chest heaving, the red slick of his lips, the glossiness of his eyes. 

“Clint,” Bucky said, as though in prayer. “You’re warm, and I wanna be warm right now.”

Clint leaned forward, forehead to Bucky’s own and nodded fervently. “Yeah, James. C’mon.” Grasping Bucky’s vibranium hand Clint pulled him towards his bedroom, mind and pulse racing. God, but Clint had never felt this kind of deep anticipation, and the short walk took ages. 

Once inside the bedroom, a bit of the awkward tension returned and they grinned at one another, Bucky blushing so fucking gorgeously that Clint wanted to come and cry at the same time. 

Yeah. That was definitely love. 

“Let me see you,” Bucky said, again taking the leap first. Clint allowed himself a deep breath before dropping Bucky’s hand and swiftly removing his t-shirt. Bucky’s eyes roamed over his chest and bare arms freely and Clint stood stock still, trying not to fidget. 

“Can I touch you?” Bucky asked, calmly though his eyes were pleading. Clint nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yes, definitely, absolutely that, yes please.”

Bucky snorted and his laughter broke a bit of the awkwardness. He took the half-step required to get to Clint and traced his flesh fingertips over Clint’s chest and abs before gripping both of Clint’s upper arms with both hands. Bucky’s thumbs swept back and forth over Clint’s biceps and Clint couldn’t help but feign smugness. 

“I’ll have to keep your arm fetish in mind for future endeavors,” Clint cracked, winking at Bucky.

“Fuck off.” Bucky’s retort came out good-naturedly. “I’d like to not address the irony of my arm fetish, thank you.”

It was dark and hilarious, and Clint groaned at how bad and wonderful it was. He tilted his chin forward and captured another kiss from Bucky, who went with the sudden action so smoothly that it was as though the contact was planned. Bucky’s hands became more sporadic then, touching Clint everywhere and anywhere, the randomness of his lavishing making Clint’s flesh feel electric and sensitive. 

When Bucky’s fingers dipped beneath the band of Clint’s lounge pants he hesitated until Clint nodded, not allowing their lips to part. Bucky pushed Clint’s pants down and they pooled at his feet. Clint promptly kicked them to the side and whimpered when he felt Bucky’s hands grasp his ass, too hard and not nearly hard enough. 

“Fuck,” Bucky gasped, finally coming up for air. “Do guys not wear briefs anymore?”

Clint chuckles. “Some of us do. I prefer to-ah-to sleep without. Dammit James, you’re wearing too many clothes, way too many.” Clint tried to focus on his words in spite of Bucky kneading his hands over Clint’s ass, hips, and abdomen. Within seconds, Bucky shimmied out of his sweats using only his feet and a swivel of his hips, and Clint felt his mouth water at the sight of his form-hugging black boxer briefs. Clint eagerly went to lift up Bucky’s sweater and Bucky froze. Alarms went off in Clint’s head and he brought his hands up, holding them palms out towards Bucky in a ‘hey, I’m stopping right this very second’ motion. 

Bucky was breathing heavily, and while he hadn’t stepped away from Clint he had averted his eyes. After a few moments of stillness, Clint cleared his throat.

“What’s up, babe?” Clint asked. Bucky shook his head almost imperceptibly before leaning forward and resting his head against Clint’s collarbone. 

“How do you see me?” Bucky asked instead of answering, and Clint had to stop himself from answering immediately, instead taking his time to choose his words.

“I see you like something real bright and glorious in a world that’s mostly bloody and full of darkness,” Clint said slowly, swallowing down how vulnerable his own statement was making him feel. “You’re beautiful and strong and I’m really just wondering why you’re choosing to be here with my clumsy, clowny self.”

When Bucky surged forward and kissed him then, it was _searing_. No longer tender or playful, Bucky kissed like they were fighting, sucking and using his teeth aggressively. Clint gave as good as he got, registering his fingers digging into the flesh of Bucky’s back at the same time that he tasted blood in his mouth.

“Fuck, Clint, I’m sorry, I-”

“No. Don’t, James. I like it, it’s so good baby, just keep-”

So Bucky did, running his tongue over the tiny tear in Clint’s lip, sucking gently as he maneuvered them over to Clint’s bed. Clint wholly enjoyed the way that Bucky used his prosthetic arm to push him gently backward until he was laying on his bed, propping himself up on his elbows, bare with the exception of his socks.

He decided to be embarrassed about that later, mainly due to the fact that Bucky chose that moment to quickly divest himself of his sweater. Clint drank in the sight of him, strong, chiseled and beautiful, all the while looking self-conscious and oh. The way that Bucky held himself, his left side turned slightly away, Clint understood. He was worried about the scarring. That getting-to-be-familiar feeling of overwhelming desire mixed with overpowering adoration and affection flooded Clint’s body and spewed out of his mouth. 

“Hey, there. I, uh, I think you should know that I love you? No, wait. That wasn’t supposed to sound like a question. I love you. And it’s terrifying but it’s so, so true James. Every bit of you, even the parts that you hate.” Clint’s heart pounded in his ears, doubt building in his chest as he watched Bucky simply stare at him, unbreathing and unblinking. 

And then Bucky _smiled_. 

Bucky’s body was warm when he crawled between Clint’s legs and draped over him, chest to chest, lips latching onto the side of Clint’s throat. Clint whined and flexed his hips upward, finding the hard friction that he was aching for, his flesh meeting the material of Bucky’s boxer briefs. Bucky chuckled and arched back into a sitting position, pushing the cotton down and Christ, he was gorgeous everywhere, much to Clint’s delight. 

When Bucky lowered himself back down they were pressed together and Clint cursed under his breath at the contact. When Bucky took them both in hand and began to stroke, Clint moaned unabashedly, trying to quiet himself in order not to miss a single one of Bucky’s breathy gasps. While Bucky was rhythmic and smooth in his motions, Clint’s hips were stuttering upward erratically and it was frantic and delicious, building intensely and quickly. 

“James, oh, fuck,” Clint repeated over and over, approaching his peak. Bucky kissed him repeatedly, small little things.

“Yeah, sweetheart, please. Lemme see you come apart for me, love,” Bucky whispered, breath hot against Clint’s throat. Clint bit his already bruised and bleeding lip as he came, Bucky following him only moments later, eyes wide open and bright, attached to Clint’s own blissed-out stare. 

Bucky didn’t move, not immediately, choosing instead to keep them in hand as he kissed Clint with a newfound tenderness that made Clint’s socked toes curl. When Bucky stood it was only to grab his sweater off of the floor, to be used as a makeshift washcloth. 

“Oh man, Tony would be so pissed right now if he could see how you’re degrading his merch,” Clint joked, words slurring together in his sated state. Bucky laughed as he mopped up Clint’s stomach before flinging the sweater across the room and crawling into bed beside Clint. Clint opened his arms and Bucky settled in as though he had been born to fit. Clint pulled his comforter over both of them and yawned, kissing Bucky’s head. 

Clint was on the precipice of sleep when he heard Bucky mumble, causing him to startle slightly and inwardly chastise himself for forgetting to take out his aids. 

“Come again, babe?”

Bucky shifted so that his chin rested on Clint’s chest and he gazed at Clint’s face, looking softer and younger than Clint had ever seen him. 

“Thanks for takin’ the leap with me, I said. I just. I love you back, is all.” 

Clint couldn’t contain his grin and it stretched across his face so wide that it hurt. 

Bucky snorted, pecked a kiss to Clint’s chest and laid his head back down. 

“Go the fuck to sleep, sweet thing.”

“Aye aye, Sergeant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote and re-wrote this chapter three times. I always get so nervous about sex scenes!
> 
> I hope I did these two, and all of you, justice. 
> 
> *scampers off to hide in the wilderness*


	7. Chapter 7

*Three Months Later*

**Hey there, sweetheart-**

**I’m hoping you get this first thing when you get home. Knowing you, you’d probably just walk on by your place and come to mine, which is my explanation for taping this one to your door and covering your frame with caution tape. Hopefully you weren’t an idiot because I really want to ask you something but I don’t know how to do it to your handsome mug.**

**I know we’ve texted, e-mailed, video chatted, the fancy works over the last few weeks with you gone on mission, but that doesn’t stop me from missing you something fierce. So bad it hurts, really. And I’m still pissed about the fact that they sent you on mission first fucking thing after getting your monitor off. If they try to send you back out right away after you get back to the compound, you better tell them no. That you’re sick. Or that you’ve got a bed and a boyfriend to warm up for a bit.**

**Who knows. Maybe next time I’ll be out there, with you. My psych eval is scheduled for this Thursday so cross those delightful fingers of yours that we’ll have each other’s sixes soon. I didn’t know how goddamn hard it would be to let you go, not knowing how you are for days at a time. I know Steve was there and God love him, but it shoulda been me. I’d never let anything happen to you, doll. You know that.**

**Anyway. About me, needing to ask you something.**

**You know, these last few months have been the happiest that I can remember, and I’m remembering a lot from even before the war, now. Sleeping in your bed, or having my place smell like your coffee all the time, dancing with you when nobody else is around, making love to you until we’re both too weak to walk away from each other has me feeling almost human, almost normal, almost happy.**

**Now before you do that thing where you overreact and catastrophize all over everything, just give me a minute to explain what I mean by that.**

**It’s been real nice having you, and us, to myself, Clint. I haven’t had anything belong to just me in a very long time, and you’re the best thing I’ve ever had. But with you gone these last two weeks all I wanted to do was go to Natasha, or Bruce, or even Tony, to complain about you being gone and to have them tell me that it was all alright, that you’d come back to me, that you wouldn’t forget about how much I love you just because we were apart. But I couldn’t make that decision by myself, and it didn’t feel right to ask you over a screen.**

**Can we let them know? The team, SHIELD, the world? It’s okay to say no, I’ll keep you to myself, but my sweet man, how badly I hurt to take you out on my arm, to crawl into your lap when we’re all being lazy together at the compound, to kiss you goodbye no matter who might be looking. I want to be introduced to your tenants as yours, your boyfriend or lover or fella and not just a guy from work or a friend.**

**It’s okay to say no if you’re not ready, or if you aren’t as eager to promenade around with me. But I just wanted you to know that I want it and I want it to be real outside of these two compound apartments.**

**I miss our letters. It feels good, writing to you again. Safe and warm and comfortable.**

**I’ll be waiting for your knock on my door, sweetheart. I’ll wait for as long as you need.**

**My love,**

**James**

*

Clint didn’t knock on Bucky’s door so much as he _pounded_ on it. When Bucky opened the door Clint flung himself forward and wrapped around his boyfriend like an over eager octopus. Bucky’s laughter sounded like music, uninhibited by technology and distance as it had been when they were able to catch up with one another during Clint’s mission with Steve and Sam in South America. Bucky gripped Clint’s ass with his hands, Clint’s legs wrapped around his waist, and smiled up at him. Clint kissed him once, twice, three times and ran his hands through Bucky’s hair before allowing his legs to settle on the floor once again. 

“You’re so fucking pretty and smart and so incredibly dumb at the same time,” Clint said, tugging on Bucky’s hair playfully. 

Bucky snorted. “Thanks. I missed you too, asshole.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Seriously, James? You think I wouldn’t be completely hyped to be able to tell everybody I ever meet ever again that I’m banging Bucky Barnes? Have you seen yourself? Do you know yourself? You’re perfect. And obviously self-sacrificing and mildly impaired if you’re excited for people to know that I’m your fella.”

His tone was teasing, with that underlying air of self-deprecation that he knew Bucky hated, but he couldn’t help it. Bucky just shook his head repeatedly, his smile growing large enough to crinkle his eyes in the corners. 

“Can we tell Steve first?” Bucky asked, and Clint thought about it for a moment before grinning.

“Who says we have to actually _tell_ anyone?”

*

The next morning, Clint beat Bucky to breakfast. 

It was Sunday, which meant pancakes. Bruce was a great cook no matter what he decided to make, but Clint could kiss the man’s feet for how much he adored his fluffy, lite pancakes. Clint piled a stack high on his plate and took a spot at the dining room table with Steve, Tony, Natasha, Wanda, Sam, and Bruce. 

He was less than halfway through his breakfast when Bucky showed up, looking freshly showered and well rested. The hickeys that Clint had sucked into his throat were gone already, healed with the serum, and Clint swallowed the familiar feeling of disappointment. That feeling quickly disappeared when Bucky held up a hand to everyone in greeting, walked directly toward Clint, and laid a small peck on his lips. 

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Bucky said, standing and ruffling Clint’s still-messy hair. Clint beamed up at Bucky as he walked around the table to grab a plate from the kitchen island.

“Hey, hot stuff.”

The silence that had blanketed the room for the past few seconds was interrupted by Tony choking on his food. Steve clapped him on the back until Tony inhaled loudly and gulped down half a glass of water. 

“Excuse me, but what?” Tony asked, eyes tracking Bucky as he came to sit in the empty chair next to Clint at the table, his own plate carrying twice the amount of pancakes as Clint's. Aw, super metabolism, jealous.

“What?” Bucky asked innocently before smiling blindingly at Tony. “Don’t tell me that the thought of two guys bein’ in love weirds you out, Tony. It is the 2000’s, after all.”

Bucky’s statement warmed Clint from the inside; he would never get over hearing Bucky say that he loved him. Better yet, it was Bucky’s question that caused a bigger stir at the table than their cutesy names and physical display had done. 

“Good for you, guys.” Sam.

“That is very sweet.” Wanda.

“As though this is a surprise.” Natasha, dryly. 

Silence and a small, warm smile from Bruce.

“Aww, Bucky! Love? That’s wonderful!” Steve. 

“You absolute bastard.” Tony, aimed at Steve. 

And just like that, all eyes shot to Steve and Tony at the end of the table, Clint’s included. Clint raised an eyebrow. 

“My turn. What, now?” He asked, turning to Bucky for clarity. Bucky looked just as confused as he shrugged. 

“You told me that you didn’t think the team would ‘respond well to an inner-office romance’ and now you’re praising these two studs for kissing at the breakfast table? Hypocrisy everywhere, Steven!” Tony didn’t sound as heated as he had a moment before, an edge of hurt and biting sarcasm leaking into his words. Steve’s face was bright red as he cleared his throat before responding.

“I didn’t mean to be, honey. How was I supposed to know?”

“Wait, what?” Clint and Bucky yelled simultaneously. 

*

“Well, that couldn’t have gone better, honestly. Usually, I get pissy about Cap and Tony stealing everybody’s thunder, but I didn’t mind it this time. Took the pressure off.” Clint squeezed Bucky’s flesh hand as they walked down the hall, naturally entering Clint’s apartment as though it belonged to both of them. 

“I can’t believe we’ve been so wrapped up in our little bubble that we didn’t notice that they’d started something! Man, we called that ages ago!” Bucky sounded so gleeful as he pulled Clint’s refrigerator open, extracting two beers and popping the caps off with his prosthetic hand as easy as anything. Clint leaned against the counter, arms folded over his chest as he simply watched Bucky move around in his space as though he was born to be there. Clint’s heart beat in double time at the sight of Bucky pouring one of the beers into a pint glass that he had pulled from the cupboard above Clint’s sink, a habit that he had developed after realizing that the serum had made his sense of taste sensitive, and “beer tastes better after being poured, Clint, I swear.”

It was such a small thing to cause the gravity of emotion, of love and reverence in Clint’s chest, but it was something that Clint loved about Bucky. One of the thousands of things.

“Move to Brooklyn with me.”

To his credit, Bucky didn’t jerk, or freeze, or otherwise respond until he had finished pouring his beer and tossing the glass bottle into the recycling bin under the sink. After he was done, he set the pint glass of beer on the counter, moved fluidly into Clint’s space, and pressed their lips together firmly, as though with certainty. 

“Yes,” Bucky whispered, lips brushing against Clint’s hearing aid. “Yes.”

Clint’s heart sang and goosebumps spread fully across his flesh at how _easy_ everything felt with Bucky, with the two of them. His head spun at how he had not only been allowed to be in the position to ask for what he really wanted but that this beautiful man in front of him had granted him his request, had wanted it as readily as Clint had wanted it himself. 

“Can I ask for something?” Bucky asked, lips still resting close to Clint’s ear. 

“For you? Anything, honey-babe.”

Bucky pulled back and smiled at Clint, radiant and with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“I want to read it.”

Laughter burst out of Clint at the simple favor. “Really?”

“Really.”

Clint nodded his assent. “I’ll go get it for you right now, if you want.”

Bucky bit his lip and stepped back, letting Clint walk out of the kitchen. It only took Clint a minute or two to locate the stack of original letters in his dresser drawer, and a few seconds longer to pull the seventh letter from the bottom of the stack, still sealed within its envelope. A second thought not appearing in his head, Clint walked quietly back into the kitchen and extended the letter out to Bucky, who took it gently.

Bucky smiled at Clint, and as he watched Bucky read the unintended letter, a simple thought repeated itself within him, over and over. 

_My dearest James._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the (chronological) end of the story. Thank you guys for sticking with me!
> 
> There is one more chapter to follow, in the form of Clint's unread letter to Bucky. I'll have it up within the next couple of days. I hope you all have enjoyed, and I hope you'll enjoy until the very end. 
> 
> Thank you endlessly!


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey, Bucky._

_So this definitely has to be the last letter that I write. To you, at least. Maybe I can start addressing these things to Tash, or Bruce. It might be calming to write to Bruce. Although...I imagine I might feel some pressure not to mention certain things just in case I say something that might piss him off. Not that he would ever read them._

_What the fuck am I even talking about, Bucky? This is a one sided conversation._

_My therapist has been happy to hear that I’ve actually been following through with this exercise, and she’ll probably be pissed when I tell her that I can’t do it anymore. Although, she’ll really be interested to know that the reason I can’t keep going is because the dude I’ve been addressing these letters to is way, way too fucking gorgeous. How am I supposed to imagine writing to you when all I want to write to you about is how bad I got it for you already?_

_You got here yesterday. YESTERDAY, damn. Not the first time we met of course, but the first time we actually got acquainted. Doesn’t matter though, I’ve been thinking about running my fingers through that absolutely ridiculous hair of yours since you stepped out of that weird little clown car at the airport. The Bucky Barnes that I read about in the history books didn’t have hair like you do, man. Do you like it long? Because you look real fucking beautiful with long hair, but my stomach goes sour and gross thinking that it’s only long because they wanted it long._

_I hope you like it long, too._

_Christ. You said like three words to me when Steve brought you around yesterday and I wish I could apologize to you for saying, like a billion words at once. It felt weird, like I had this one-sided relationship with you, the guy I’ve been treating like my journal for a while now. Sorry about that. You won’t know that I’m sorry, but maybe writing it down is like sending out my awkward ass apologies into the universe. Who the fuck knows._

_All I know is that you seemed a little lost, a little shy, and a little fucking mischievous. Don’t think I don’t recognize the signs that someone is a little shit. I’m a little shit, Steve’s a little shit, too. You think I didn’t notice how you bit your lip trying not to laugh at how adorable and excited Steve was to drag you around this compound? Trust me, I noticed. Your lips got all pink._

_This. This is why I can’t write to you anymore because it’s going to turn into me writing about your lips and how I think you’re so hot that I literally got parched and needed to chug a bunch of water after watching you walk away._

_As I’m writing, I’m imagining you reading this and what you might think. I sound like a horny, shallow fucker don’t I? You’re gorgeous, Bucky Barnes, but you’re a lot more than that. You should be a pile of shaking mess, curled up in the fetal position after what you’ve been through, but you nodded your head and smiled a little at me when Steve introduced us. You agreed to play cards with Wanda later this week. You slept alone in your apartment your first night last night. I know because you’re right next to mine and I was up all night listening in case you needed anything._

_I’ve been where you’ve been. Only for the equivalent of two seconds compared to you, but it fucked with my sleep and I needed help in those first few weeks. I wanted to be there in case you needed someone, but you didn’t. You’re gorgeous and so fucking strong and I know you’re going to give everyone hell once you’re comfortable here, and all of those things on top of knowing how good a shot you are? That makes me want you in a way that I haven’t wanted anyone in a really long futzin time._

_So this is it. The last letter. I’m kind of sad about it but overall, it’s been nice getting to know this version of you in my head. Maybe one day I’ll tell you how much you helped me get through some shit without even knowing it. I am excited to get to know you, the real live you, after all._

_Who knows? Maybe you’re even better in real life than you are in my head._

_Peace, Bucky._

_Thank you._

_Signing off,_

_Clint Barton, Best Shot in the World_


End file.
